XIX
Ever since the arrest of General Ochoa on the twelfth of June in 1989, and the subsequent arrests of a number of other high-ranking military officers, including Colonel Antonio de la Guardia, the country had been riveted to the daily, state-run television broadcasts of the sham trial, held before a Military Honor Court in Havana.
It came as no surprise to Roberto, when on the eighth of July, the official mouthpiece of the communist state-run newspaper, La Granma, reported that the military tribunal had found officers Ochoa, de la Guardia, Martinez, and Padron, guilty of drug smuggling and corruption and sentenced them to death by firing squad.
Only a handful of people in Cuba knew the truth about the Castro brothers’ cocaine smuggling operation and the risk it posed to the future of the Cuban revolution should the government of the United States find out it was solely the work of Fidel. Roberto was one of those people.
Even the casual observer witnessing the alleged defense testimony had no trouble understanding why the details of the operation were never revealed by the accused. When reference was made to even the slightest involvement on the part of the so-called “highest authority,” the testimony of the accused was swiftly discredited.
It was speculated by many in Cuba, that had the truth been told by any of the defendants during the trial, all of whom were highly respected throughout the ranks of the Cuban military, as well as the civilian population, and possessed enough political leverage to challenge the Castros, that the lives of the family members of the accused would have been in peril.
Not since the murder of Camillo Cienfuegos had the actions of the masquerading as benevolent Marxist father figures, posed such a danger to themselves. This scandal however, even more than the Cienfuegos affair, had the potential to seriously threaten their thirty-year stranglehold on power.
Early on the morning of July fourteenth, Roberto, while still living with Rosa and Guillermo, awoke and went downstairs to join his parents for coffee and something to eat on the terrace.
Rosa was making a second pot of coffee and Guillermo was sitting outside with Carlos when Roberto walked into the kitchen.
dias, he said cheerfully.
Roberto’s mood could not have been more ebullient. In recent weeks he had sold a number of paintings to Mariano before the Spaniard had returned to Spain for the summer, providing him with more than enough to live on until Mariano returned the following winter.
His black-market business appraising precious stones, while increasingly risky due to the government campaign, Operacion which was intended to root out ordinary citizens suspected of so-called criminal capitalist activities, had become quite lucrative, providing him with a backup cash flow during the months when Mariano was not in Cuba.
“You may not feel quite so cheerful after you read the paper,” said Rosa.
“Why?” asked Roberto.
“Your father has the paper. I’ll bring you some coffee,” she said.
Roberto walked outside and sat down next to Carlos, across the table from his father. Guillermo leaned forward and slid the morning edition of La Granma to a position on the table in front of Roberto where he would be able to read the headline.
Slowly, without picking up the paper, Roberto leaned over and read the headline reporting the death sentence by firing squad for General Ochoa, Colonel de la Guardia, and the two other officers, Martinez and Padron, had been carried out the previous day, before dawn, at the Tropas Especiales military base in Baracoa, West Havana.
“Now the truth will be buried in the ground forever,” said Roberto.
“What do you plan to do now?” asked Guillermo.
“What do you mean?” replied Roberto.
“I mean I think you should consider giving up your black-market activities. The government is on high alert looking to jail anyone they consider involved in counter-revolutionary activities. We’re worried you’ll be imprisoned again, and for a much longer time. Remember, you have a serious record,” said Guillermo.
“I’m aware I have a record. Look, I’m careful and I don’t plan on doing this forever,” said Roberto.
“What do you plan on doing?” asked Guillermo.
“I haven’t figured that out yet. There are not a lot of options right now with the economy,” said Roberto. “Maybe I’ll become a fisherman.”
“At least it’s honest work,” said Guillermo.
“I think my work is honest,” said Roberto. He was annoyed with the way his father had characterized his business dealings and wanted to change the subject. “We are being squeezed now more than ever and this is not going to help.” Roberto picked up the newspaper and pointed to the headline.
“That’s what I mean. The Castros are nervous. We lost the support of the Soviets and Fidel is determined not to adopt any of Gorbachev’s policies of Perestroika. Look, all we are saying is now is not the time to take chances,” said Guillermo.
“I understand. Did you receive the car registration?” Roberto asked, again trying to change the subject.
“Yes. You need to keep it with the car in case you’re questioned by the police. The police should have stopped you by now. They’re not doing their job,” said Guillermo.
“Quite the comedian,” quipped Roberto.
Rosa finished making the coffee for Roberto and had joined them on the terrace. “It’s sickening what the Castros did to your friend Tony,” she said.
“It is, but it was expected. I feel bad for his wife and children. He was a good person. It’s not easy to be a good person in Cuba,” lamented Roberto.
“He was smuggling drugs for El Jefe. That’s not being a good person,” said Rosa.
“I know but he had no choice. He refuses, he goes to jail. That’s the way Fidel operates,” said Roberto.
“What about this nueva Is she nice?” she asked. Roberto knew this was Rosa’s way of asking if Maura could be trusted.
“She’s no nonsense, I can tell you that. She lives with her grandmother,” replied Roberto.
“What does she do?” asked Rosa.
“She works part time for my friend Carmen, and for other people in the neighborhood. Whatever she can find. Her parents live in Miami,” said Roberto.
“The two of you planning to leave for Miami?” asked Rosa.
“No, we’re not planning to go to Miami,” answered Roberto. Roberto was a terrible liar and not telling his mother the truth made him uncomfortable. He could see out of the corner of his eye that his brother Carlos was looking at him. Worried Carlos might slip and say something that would reveal his plan to leave with Pedro, he distracted him with a question.
“Carlitos, have you been to see Maykel lately? I heard from a friend in Cojimar he has been fishing most days with Senor Fuentes” said Roberto.
“Yes, I have gone to the docks several times recently, in the afternoon when the boats are coming in. He and Gregorio have not always been lucky, but the days when they are, it has often been a big one. The dorado run has been over for at least a month now, but the big marlin have been steady. Maykel always asks me when you are coming fishing again,” said Carlos.
“Maybe we can go a day later in the month,” said Roberto. He knew it was unlikely they would go fishing with Maykel, perhaps ever again, but he wanted to give Carlos something to look forward to. The brothers had spent little time together in recent years and despite Carlos’s difficulties in communicating his feelings to his brother, Roberto could tell their time apart was taking a toll on their relationship.
The family sat on the terrace late into the morning, talking and drinking coffee and though the talk was mostly about the news of the day, the intensity lessened as the conversation evolved more toward the comfortably mundane. Roberto had no plans for the day and was happy and comfortable spending it with his parents and Carlos.
By mid-afternoon the coffee had given way to rum and the family had been joined by Roberto’s brother Lazaro and his sister Rosa. From the patio they could hear the sound of thunder coming from the summer squalls, building slowly since early afternoon, as they passed steadily to the north over the old city. While no rain fell in Santos the cooling effect from the wind that came with the squalls as they brushed by, along with the fresh sweet smell of the nearby rain, provided just enough inspiration for the tree frogs, safely hidden in the banana plants that bordered the terrace, to begin singing.